Ramifications
by Savari
Summary: Post-Ep for 97 Seconds. Cameron's reaction to House's knife-in-wall-socket stunt. Now with more House/Cam goodness!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.  
**

**Ramifications: Chapter One**

She will never tell.

No one will know the broken sobs that wracked her body. The way she auto-piloted her way through the four agonizing hours remaining of her shift. Waiting, waiting for the moment she could let herself break, could let the pain back in.

You're supposed to take care of the ones you love. Supposed to make sure they know. He could have died – did die – without knowing.

She will never tell.

------ H & C ------

The cars in front of her blur dangerously. She hurries through the parking lot, blinking fiercely as she digs through her purse. _Keys, keys. Come on._

She finally reaches her car and leans against the driver-side door, still hunting through receipts, change, lip gloss and spare tissues.

"Doctor Cameron,"

She jumps, her left hand flying to her throat as she spins around.

She is thankful that the search for her keys has kept her from any further tears. The last thing she needs is Wilson connecting her distress to House's latest stupid, idiotic, selfish-

"Cameron?" James Wilson has perfected the 'concerned friend' look and her eyes get hot and blurry as he turns it on her full blast.

"I just wanted to let you know that he woke up half an hour ago. Looks like he's going to be fine," The wry twist to his lips tells her that Wilson is not exactly sure what 'fine' is when it comes to House anymore.

"Thanks," She pauses, not sure how she should react. "That's... good. I guess."

A little concern mixed with a healthy dose of confusion and topped off with a hint of exasperation. Perfect.

Wilson rubs the back of his neck with a sigh and nods. Yeah. I guess.

"Thanks for letting me know," She offers him her own half-smile and inwardly thanks whatever deity there might be out there that House at least has Wilson.

"I'll see you on Monday, then," A vague, but genuine smile. "Night Cameron."

"Night Wilson."

Her keys at last emerge as Wilson passes through the sliding doors. The cold metal digs into her palm as he disappears.

At least he has Wilson.

**AN: **Officially turned from a oneshot into a chaptered story. Reviews are candy :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue. You wouldn't get much out of me anyway. ;)**

**Ramifications: Chapter Two  
**

She is so very glad that Chase hasn't managed to talk her into moving in with him yet. The very fact that, in her mind, she still thinks of him as 'Chase' is telling.

The apartment is dark and she doesn't bother with lights tonight. The faint glow of moonlight is enough once her eyes adjust. Light is too harsh, too real. She lives with bright, harsh, real, every day. This apartment is her sanctuary, she can hide here.

Her bag is thrown onto the couch as she makes her way to the small kitchen. A cool glass of water soothes her aching throat even as a few stray tears find their way down her cheeks.

Her mind is blessedly blank. Her thoughts stray over small, mundane things, obediently staying away from anything that might call him to mind. She needs to buy milk and coffee. Her laundry-basket is hopelessly overfull. Small things, small steps.

She makes her way deftly around the small dining table and along the short hall to her bedroom. The refilled glass is placed on her bedside table; the low thunk it makes is soothingly definite. She fishes her pyjamas out of her top draw and changes in the dark, casting her clothes off onto the floor. She is not normally so haphazard. Tonight, though, she just wants to sleep. To sink into her warm, comfy mattress and pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened today. Pretend House didn't try to kill himself today.

She pulls the comforter higher, and burrows deeper against her pillow with a frown. She won't think about this tonight. She is exhausted and emotionally wrecked and she can't trust herself not to do something monumentally stupid, like rush back to the hospital to see for herself that the stupid ass is alive.

She slams her eyes shut and forces herself to relax the muscles of her face. Not tonight.

------ H & C ------

Morning arrives far too quickly, her alarm clock going off at 5:30 after she forgot to reset it in her haste to fall into the oblivion of sleep the night before. She reaches over and depresses the button to make it be silent. Light is just peeking through the drawn curtains across her windows, falling in a soft yellow bar across the silvery-blue comforter. She squeezes her eyes shut and frowns in concentration. She has only had five hours sleep, but she is used to operating on less. Nevertheless, she tries to retreat back into sleep.

The glowing red numbers tick slowly by and Cameron finds herself staring at her alarm clock, unable even to keep her eyes closed, let alone be taken under by sleep. Eventually, after half an hour of staring aimlessly at the time dragging by and seeing the red numbers burned into the backs of her eyelids with every brief blink, she sighs and throws the covers back.

Sitting, or in this case lying, around doing nothing has never been one of her strong suits. Especially when she is trying to avoid letting her thoughts stray to a particular subject.

She swallows her breakfast mechanically, doodling on the notepad by her phone while she sips her morning coffee. A list begins to form amongst the aimless scribbles;

Laundry  
Grocery Shopping  
Call Mom  
Do Something with Chase

This last item makes her cringe slightly at the surge of impatience his name arouses. She should look forward to spending time with him; he is after all her boyfriend. However, time spent with Chase seems akin to time wasted. At least that's how it feels to Cameron.

Impatiently she downs the last of her coffee and begins to gather her dirty laundry.

It is only 6:45 by the time she has finished her laundry and she thinks that this day is going to be long and most definitely not distracting enough.

By 12:03 everything on her list is crossed off- apart from the last item. Her apartment is spotless, her refrigerator stocked with far more food than she needs and her mother has been apprised of everything interesting going on in her life. Well. Almost everything. Cameron rarely mentions House to her mother, at least not in any way not strictly pertaining to work. The note of disapproval in her voice is inescapable whenever he is mentioned, even in professional context, thus Cameron has learned to leave him out of any and all conversations with her mother. She doesn't need to be reminded how she is better off without him in her life. She knows this already, and yet it doesn't stop her thoughts from straying to him far too frequently.

She wonders how he is doing, as she picks unenthusiastically at the green salad she has prepared. Has he managed to bully one of the nurses into wheeling him up to his office yet? Or has he simply commandeered one of his many potential-interns into helping him. Some of them might have the backbone to refuse him, but others would do anything to be hired onto his team. Cutthroat Bitch could easily be ordered to smuggle him out of his room.

Cameron shakes her head irritably while scraping the remains of her lunch into the bin, trying not to let her thoughts stray any deeper than these superficial musings. But what on earth drove him to stick a knife into a wall socket?

With a frustrated groan she decides her bathroom is in desperate need of cleaning.

------ H & C ------

The white tiles sparkle at her in the cold artificial light, mocking her with their cleanliness. Scrubbing them has hardly made them any whiter and she feels rather dissatisfied. Stripping the rubber gloves from her hands she stalks into her bedroom and pulls on a pair of faded, but stylish, jeans and a soft baby blue sweater. She tries not to think about how she has chosen this particular one because it brings out the blue highlights in her serious grey-blue eyes.

Likewise, she ignores the fact that she slips her feet into four-inch high heels in order to make her legs appear longer – she knows she doesn't _need_ to do this; her legs are quite long enough already, but she knows – certain people – like the combination of jeans and strappy heels.

She draws the line at toying with her hair, choosing to pull it back into ponytail, and carefully leaves her lips devoid of gloss or lipstick. She does, however, give in and apply a layer of mascara.

Feeling utterly guilty for primping even a little for this doomed foray to the hospital, she grabs her keys and heads out the door.

**AN: **'Kay, so I couldn't leave it alone. I don't know if anyone is reading this, but I just felt the need to post it. ;p


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue. **

**Ramifications: Chapter Three  
**

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Cameron arches one neatly plucked eyebrow. House is sitting at his desk, frowning at the case file open before him. At her voice he looks up, and she almost flinches at the hollowness in his eyes. A moment passes and Cameron fights not to drop her gaze. Something is going on with him and she feels a flash of fear that he will attempt to take his life again.

"Probably," He allows, returning his attention to the file.

She is disturbed not only by the emptiness in his eyes, but the lack of banter. Even a mocking 'just can't stay away, can you?' would have made her feel better. Something has affected him deeply. She clenches her fists, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. Her chest aches and she wishes she could just walk over to him and put her arms around him. Wishes she could take away whatever is hurting him now. She settles for crossing to his side and peering down at the case file.

Jonathan Wilks.

"Who's the patient?" She murmurs, not taking her eyes from the file. She doesn't really care who he is, only why House has forsaken bedrest and morphine in order to obsess over him.

"A guy," Is the uncooperative response, accompanied by a miniscule shrug.

Cameron takes a deep breath, swallowing the irritation that swells in her throat. He has been through an ordeal – albeit self-inflicted – and so she will cut him some slack.

"What's wrong with him?" Her voice conveys mild curiosity, even as she scans the chart for something that would fascinate him. There appears to be nothing particularly interesting about this man. Victim of a car crash, revived in the ambulance, spent a week in ICU and was discharged after another two weeks, with a healing fractured collarbone and several broken ribs. He then returned to the hospital after… electrocuting himself while in the PPTH Free Clinic. Was revived and lived for several hours afterwards, before finally dying in the early hours of the morning following his admittance.

Oh.

"Nothing," He snaps the file shut and swivels his chair to stare obstinately at her.

She nods obligingly and steps back, away from the intensity of his blue gaze. She moves around the desk and seats herself on the couch, leaning back comfortably and crossing her legs. She is not going anywhere.

He lowers his head and glances at her momentarily from beneath furrowed brows. She remains silent, maintaining a pleasantly uninterested expression. He would normally notice the slight twitching of her hands, the way she shifts minutely every minute or so. He is distracted, though, and beyond taking note of such small intricacies, the signals he usually lives to discover, in order to ferret out the motives of those around him. Cameron's motives, however, are usually fairly straightforward.

"Stop fretting, Cameron, I'm fine," He mutters, his irritation growing when he realises how weak his voice sounds.

She can hear the growl in his voice, even though it did not manifest itself as it usually would. He would not appreciate sympathy, not that she feels particularly inclined to give it, so she opts for the familiarity of sarcasm.

"You certainly look fine," A vague blush spreads across her cheeks as she realises how this might have sounded. If he chooses not to read the sarcasm in her voice this could be thoroughly humiliating.

He snorts softly, giving her a knowing look, but choosing not to comment. He doesn't have the energy to bait her today.

"Have you even been home since… last night?" She hesitates, uncomfortable.

He manages to roll his eyes and pins her with a glare. "No, _Mom_, but I got one of my lackeys to bring me some clothes."

She ignores the Mom crack, opting to get straight to the point.

"You need to rest and if you won't do that here, then you need to go home," Her voice is hard, as are her eyes. After a moment, she softens, a whispered, "Please, House."

Her wide eyes are dark, serious and imploring. _Please._

He blinks, unable to meet her gaze. A deep breath. "Fine." He nods once, still avoiding her eyes.

They stand, House grabs his jacket as they leave, moving more slowly than his usual brisk, if uneven, stride. She shortens her own movement, tempering her usually swift, efficient march. Working in the ER has increased the sense of urgency in the way she walks, beyond the thoughtful swagger of her days with House.

She has not asked how he will get home, assuming he will let her drive him, thus she is surprised when he limps away in the opposite direction to her car. He is heading for his bike.

"House, come on, you're not driving that thing _now_," She is incredulous. Does he really think it's a good idea for him to be driving _anything_ right now, let alone a motorbike? He ignores her.

She hurries after him, planting herself in his path.

"House, no, I'll drive you home."

He glances down at her, annoyed. After a moment, the tension in his shoulders is released and his gaze flicks from her face up to the bike over her shoulder. He doesn't want to leave it here for however long he will be at home and she can see the determination in his eyes. The minute she leaves his apartment he will be on a bus back to the hospital to retrieve it.

She turns, following his gaze. "I'll get Chase to come and get it for you."

He visibly stiffens, obviously unhappy at the thought of anyone else riding his bike.

"He won't hurt it," She is exasperated and infinitely surprised when he nods reluctantly. He must be feeling like hell to give in so easily.

They make their way slowly across the lot, silent and each deep in their own thoughts. They slide into their respective seats and Cameron turns the radio on, very low, just enough to mask the uncomfortable quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't Sue.  
**

**Ramifications: Chapter Four  
**

The sky is becoming overcast, heavy grey clouds encroaching steadily on the blue, eating away at it. Cameron resists the impulse to sigh, instead clenching her hands around the steering wheel tighter. House has been surprisingly silent throughout the drive, even now, as they sit in traffic, banked up because of an accident. Normally he would be restless; sniping near-constantly about the 'idiots who thought it would be a good idea to drive head-first into a lightpole'. This silence is unnerving to Cameron and she shifts once again in her seat, wishing she could find the words. No, that's wrong; she has the words, just not the courage to say them.

After fifteen minutes of crawling along, an inch at a time, House finally breaks his silence; he begins to tap the rubber end of his cane against the floor in a precise rhythm. Cameron grits her teeth and tries not to let it annoy her. No doubt House is doing this mostly because he is bored and wants to force a reaction out of her. If it was anyone else she would have thought it was an unconscious display of impatience, but the deliberate, never-ending thump-thump-thump is most definitely contrived to elicit a reaction.

She wants to turn up the radio, but she knows that would be childish and only feed his determination to make her crack. She waits, easing her foot off the brake and rolling a couple of feet forward.

He is staring out the window, completely ignoring her, as though he isn't waiting with baited breath for her to snap. It occurs to her that this might be the perfect time to try and get out of him just why he tried to kill himself. In a moment of goodwill she leans over and snatches the cane from his grasp, tossing it into the back seat with a smirk. Hey, if she's going to pry into the innermost workings of his mind, she might as well try to give him some satisfaction. Once again, a small blush creeps across her cheeks and she rolls her eyes, annoyed with herself for going there, even in her head.

He stares, trying to work out why she is blushing. All she did was grab his cane. He grins. "Just can't keep your hands off my cane, can you?"

She groans, shaking her head. It was too much to hope that he would let two opportunities pass by in one day. The fact that his quip isn't exactly in line with what she was thinking is irrelevant; she's still blushing.

"That was not up to your usual standard, House," She rolls her eyes, barely glancing at him.

"You're just not challenging enough to waste my best material on," He reaches into the back seat, feeling around for his discarded cane.

She glowers at the car in front of her, any and all charitable feelings she may have harboured towards the ass this afternoon sliding away. "Sure. It's not that you're hurt and exhausted, I'm just not interesting enough."

He smirks and pulls his cane forward triumphantly. "Exactly!"

"Right," She mutters under her breath.

Another ten minutes of silence pass and she slowly cools off. It has always been a sore point with her, this feeling of inadequacy around him. She used to find him fascinating; his incredible mind and disregard for rules that impede the diagnosis. His confidence and brilliance were what attracted her to him. Then she discovered how damaged he was and that just stirred her nurturing instincts. She wanted to fix him, to somehow make him happy. But she never got the chance to try, not really. That one date was utterly horrible and really, what did she expect? She practically had to blackmail him into it. It was obvious he didn't want to go out with her, wasn't interested in her. And that had hurt. To be fascinated by someone and have them basically declare you boring. So she had forced herself move on, eventually realising that she was better off without House, anyway. The more she got to know of him, the more she understood that he was far better left alone. At least it was far better for her if she left him alone.

The truth is, though, she still finds him fascinating. Finds herself dreaming of her days in the Diagnostics Department, when he would somehow, miraculously pull the correct diagnosis out of thin air and a couple of miniscule indicators that no one else noticed. She misses stretching her brain, engaging her mind in ways she has never been able to do anywhere else. Finding the answer and presenting it to him, and seeing that brief, surprised look on his face. Those single moments of warmth in his eyes, unguarded seconds of connection. It is in those moments that she thinks maybe, just maybe, she isn't boring to him after all.

She has gathered these tiny memories and compiled them, very occasionally allowing herself to bask in their glow, in the remembered triumph, just for a minute, before moving on again.

He is staring at her again, she notices and realises belatedly that she is smiling. She quickly wipes the happiness from her face, although she suspects it still lingers around her eyes, and shoots him a questioning look.

He frowns. "Thinking about Chase?" The derision in his voice is palpable.

She sighs and shakes her head. "No."

His eyebrows rise swiftly, "Then who?"

"No one, House."

He shakes his head in faux sympathy. "Poor Chase."

She glares at him. "No, not poor Chase. I wasn't thinking about anyone!"

"Then what were you thinking about?" He genuinely looks curious and she feels a flash of momentary triumph – it isn't often that the rather formidable entirety of his attention is focused on her – followed by a stifling sense of guilt.

She wishes he weren't so obsessive; she might have been able to get away with a 'nothing' if he was a normal person. Being House, though, he will dig and dig until he finds out. Oh well, she smiles vaguely, at least it'll keep him distracted from whatever his problem is at the moment.

"Nothing."

"No way was that nothing. Unless you're a mindless idiot who enjoys being stuck in traffic-jams caused by other mindless idiots - that was something." His gaze is intense but she resists the urge to look at him, keeping her eyes focused on the numberplate of the car ahead.

"Fine, it was something." She shrugs distractedly as she eases into a promising looking lane.

He eyes her oddly and she can't read the expression on his face from this angle. Finally he gives up and sits back in his seat, returning his gaze to the window.

Damn. She had hoped to keep him somewhat distracted for a while. Apparently her mysterious happiness is not enough, though.

Ten quiet minutes later the clouds open and rain begins to pelt relentlessly against the windows. A heavy sigh is involuntarily expelled and she looks over at him, surprised. In a moment of thoughtlessness, she reaches over and places her hand on his arm, squeezing gently.

He turns with a blank expression and stares at her hand, small and pale against the dark material of his shirt sleeve. She hastily pulls away, inwardly chastising herself. She knows he doesn't generally like to be touched, especially not in a way meant to be comforting. It somehow seems to imply weakness to him.

He is not derisive or annoyed, though, and this gives her a small, momentary hope.

"Why, House?" She says, her voice barely above a whisper, as though she doesn't want to break this strange spell that is allowing him to accept warmth.

He shakes his head, unwilling to answer her yet.

"I've been through this with Wilson, already. I did _not _try to kill myself."

A heaviness that she hadn't even realised existed eases from her chest and she lets out a shaky breath. She meets his hollow, stormgrey eyes for a moment and nods in acceptance. If he doesn't want to tell her, she doesn't need to know why. She can be okay with simply knowing that he wasn't trying to end himself.

"Okay."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't Sue.**

**Ramifications: Chapter Five  
**

They eventually make their way up to his apartment, Cameron forcibly restraining herself from hovering over House or trying to help him in any way. After his small admission in the car she knows he will want space.

He opens the door for her and this alone makes her wary. He wants to get her into his apartment for some bizarre, House-ish reason; otherwise he would have just barged in and shut the door in her face. With a small frown she steps through and hesitates, playing idly with her car keys. He doesn't offer her a seat, instead throwing his jacket onto the couch and limping into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. She rolls her eyes.

"If you're going to ignore me, House, I might as well just leave," She says, arms crossed. She knows he wants something and won't be eager to let her leave without whatever it is.

He shrugs, rummaging noisily around in the fridge.

"Suit yourself. But you haven't got the keys to my bike yet and you know if you don't make sure it's safe I'm just going to go straight back to the hospital for it," He pauses, straightening to look her in the eye with a smirk. "And you know you're not going to let me do that. That would just be cruel, forcing an injured cripple back out into the rain mere hours after being electrocuted."

She rolls her eyes and crosses to the couch, moving his jacket in order to sit down. She's been outmanoeuvred and there's no point denying it.

He takes his time, somehow finding a bag of corn chips hiding in the depths of his empty pantry. Eventually he makes his way over to the couch and sits, unceremoniously tossing the chips into her lap and placing a bottle of beer on the coffee table before her. She raises one eyebrow incredulously.

"Why are you bribing me with beer and Doritos?"

He smirks, affecting an injured air, "Bribing? Can't I just offer my guest some refreshments?"

Cameron narrows her eyes suspiciously and shakes her head. "No."

With a huff he snatches the bag of chips and opens them, grabbing a handful. "Fine, I won't attempt to be pleasant." He mutters through a mouthful.

"What were you thinking about in the car?" He is suddenly serious, penetrating blue eyes studying her face with practised diligence.

Cameron sighs in irritation and shakes her head. "Can't you just accept that I don't want to talk about it?"

He gives her an incredulous look. _No._

"Right, of course not, because you're House. And House must know everything," She mutters avoiding his uncomfortably direct gaze.

"Hey, I answered your question, now it's your turn to answer mine," He adopts a righteous look, as though she owes him an answer.

She shakes her head, "No, you didn't answer my question. You answered a question I didn't even ask. It doesn't count."

He sighs heavily, a mutinous look appearing on his face. "Still, at least I gave you some information. You haven't given me any."

"I told you I wasn't thinking about Chase!" She glares, irritated at his ability to draw her into petty arguments. "That's the same as you telling me you_ didn't _try to kill yourself. Not an answer, just an evasion."

He flinches slightly, momentarily off balance. She grits her teeth, clenching her hands around one another in an effort not to reach out to him. Damn, she feels guilty now. He withdraws, not physically moving, but still a distance seems to appear between them that wasn't there when they were arguing.

She sighs in defeat. "I was thinking about… work." It is technically true, although he will no doubt hear the hesitation in her voice. She grabs the bottle from the table in front of her and sits back, turning it in her hands, unopened. A peace offering of sorts.

Evidently he was not expecting her answer to be so simple, especially after all the artful evading she had managed.

"Work?" He says dubiously, eyeing her as though she might suddenly sprout another head. "That look… was because you were thinking about work?" He doesn't believe her.

"Yes! Some people actually enjoy their work. Find it rewarding, satisfying," She realises too late that she sounds defensive and inwardly grimaces. If anything is likely to lure House on a truth-hunting expedition, it is defensiveness.

"Yeah, but most people don't," He muses, rubbing his chin distractedly. He is still shooting her suspicious looks. "Especially when you spend most of your time pulling foreign objects out of even foreign-er places and dealing with paranoid idiots who think their kid is dying because they have the sniffles."

Cameron shakes her head and begins picking at the label on the beer bottle. There is no point trying to explain to House that she actually does, genuinely, enjoy her job. Granted, not all of it, but it is very rewarding work. And there is no way she is going to tell him that she misses working with him, let alone anything else.

"What, no defence for the parents who are worried about their child? Have you actually come to the rather freeing realisation that most people on this earth are utter morons?" He adopts a gleeful look, actually rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"No, I just know there's no point in arguing with you," She gives him a pointed look.

"Well that's boring. You'll just have to find some other way to entertain me, then," He winks ostentatiously and leers at her.

She snorts, "Hmm, not likely. And I didn't bring you home to argue with you or to… Do other things with you. You're supposed to be resting, you look like shit," She says frankly, standing and pulling the bag of chips from his lap. "Come on, you need to sleep."

She tugs him to his feet with startlingly little resistance and leads him to his bedroom. The bed is unmade, the room unkempt, but quite clean for all its messiness. She leaves him to change, only returning when his door is opened.

"Cameron!" He calls, a teasing lilt to his rough voice.

She smiles vaguely, with a hint of indulgence and enters the room. He is lying in bed, facing the edge. She crosses to him, neatly sidestepping the piles of clothes that litter the floor.

"Yes, House?" Her voice is tinged with amusement.

He reaches out and grabs her hand, pulling her down gently. She frowns in confusion, bracing herself against the bed with one hand as he leans closer, his lips brushing her ear. His warm breath washes over her skin, eliciting a small shiver as heat curls heavily in her belly. His stubble grazes her skin as he speaks and at first she can hardly concentrate on what he is saying. Her entire world is focused on those two points of contact; his hand lightly squeezing her wrist and the breath that scalds her skin. The cool touch of metal pressing into her hand breaks through the haze and his words become clear;"Don't forget my bike."

She pulls away with a disgusted huff, barely seeing the satisfied smirk on his face as she storms from the room.

_Bastard._


End file.
